


Sarduli

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Family Dynamics, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: The first time Kumar Varma meets the Crown Princess, it doesn't take him long to decide he hates her.





	Sarduli

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for non-graphic references to miscarriage.

The first time Kumar Varma meets the Crown Princess, it doesn't take him long to decide he hates her. 

"She can't be a girl!" he tells his sister later that evening. "She must be a man-eating tiger who's taken human form to torment us all!" 

Sumitra smiles, too indulgent for his liking. "I heard the two of you got along very well," she murmurs, "and that the Crown Princess was very passionate in your defense." 

Kumar flushes. "I didn't need her to!" he says quickly, and, all thoughts of his prior claim about the princess's bestial nature forgotten, adds, "Your brother didn't need a _child_ to protect him." 

"Hardly a child. She's barely a year your junior." 

"I certainly didn't ask her to interfere," Kumar retorts, stung. "I could have fought them all myself." 

"Surely she didn't mean it to hurt you, Kumar. The King--" and there, a blush at the mention of her future husband "--has mentioned that Devasena has no patience for bullies." It's the unexpected tenderness in Sumitra's name when she uses the name of the Crown Princess so freely that shakes him. He looks away. 

"She's no better, humiliating me like that," he says, stubborn to the end, and forgets all shame to look at Sumitra beseechingly: "Must you marry him?" 

They have had this conversation before, many times. "The King is a good man," she says at last, each word careful and contained, "and he will take care of you as his own flesh and blood. How many would do that for a penniless brother and sister, especially once Father's debts come due?" 

He might have believed that his sensible sister hadn't dreamed of apprenticing herself to a physician instead of marrying a near-stranger if she let her eyes meet his. She wouldn't have to make the sacrifice it weren't for him, he thinks miserably. A knot of guilt and helplessness forms in his throat; he swallows. 

"Besides," says Sumitra, "our family has been serving the throne for generations. What better way of service than marriage?" 

If so, then the fault doesn't fall entirely on his shoulders. Kumar rallies. 

"I don't mind him so much," he admits grudgingly. "But the Crown Princess--" 

"--Will soon be a member of my family, as you are, and I won't hear another word against her." When he opens his mouth, she raises her hand to stop him before any sound can escape. 

Kumar subsides, misery giving way to quiet anger. By no means is it fair. Princess Devasena already possesses the heart of everyone else in Kuntala; can't she spare him his sister's, at least? 

* 

The day of the wedding dawns all too soon. Kumar stands in a corner and accepts congratulations, feeling an absolute fool. At any moment, he knows, he'll be recognized at what he really is: a pauper, Father's illustrious lineage not withstanding, passed off as a prince. He is too frightened to say anything more than the bare minimum; the guests who approach him soon tire of his monosyllabic answers and drift away. 

Across the hall, Devasena is a flurry of activity in saffron. She asks a servant to see to a decoration here; she addresses a small crowd of subjects gathered to pay their respects there. At times she moves so quickly she is only a streak of orange contrasted with the black of her long hair. Little surprise; everyone knows she is her brother's second-in-command, despite her youth. Two other orphaned siblings, the King and the Crown Princess, but who share their burdens equally. 

When she approaches, the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He braces himself for the inevitable, but she only gives him a slight smile and says, "I'll show you to your rooms." 

Mutely Kumar follows. 

When he had been told that the King expected him to take up residence in the palace along with his sister, Kumar had assumed that he would naturally be relegated to the small uncomfortable rooms reserved for unwelcome guests. What sort of groom would want his new bride's younger brother constantly underfoot to claim her attention? But the rooms to which Devasena leads him are large and spacious, overlooking the palace gardens; they are decorated as lavishly as the King's chambers themselves. Kumar doesn't know what to think. 

He turns to Devasena. "You are not my sister," he says quickly, before he can think better of it. "I already have one, and you are not she." 

Is that a flash of hurt in her eyes? Impossible. Devasena can be nothing but relieved to be rid of responsibility for him. 

"I already have a brother," she replies at last, "and you are not he." 

"Just so there is no confusion on that account." 

"I am certain there won't be." 

He has never been skilled at finding the right words. They fail him entirely now. "Good night, then." Turning his back, ostensibility to admire the view from the balcony, he hopes against hope that she will take the hint and leave him be. 

He's still disappointed to find her gone when he dares turn around. 

* 

Months pass. Kumar learns his way around the palace, only jumps half the time when the servants address him as "prince," and almost weeps with happiness to see Sumitra's smiles appear more frequently than ever before. When the news is announced that Sumitra is expecting the heir to the throne at the beginning of winter, it seems Kuntala's joy is complete. 

At least that is what he tells himself. Sumitra may be wan and frequently indisposed these days, and Kumar unsure of how he can best help her, but he has to believe it is for the best. They have no other path before them now. 

He tells himself this all the more firmly the day Nitish, the royal treasurer's son, loudly demands to know what skills he has to offer the royal family, much less Kuntala itself. 

Honesty would require him to admit he has none. Honesty is useless in this case. Kumar raises his head. “I haven’t a weapon with me,” he says as haughtily as he can. “If I did, I would make you swallow every one of your words. You haven’t seen me fight. None of you have!” 

Nitish only laughs and takes two knives from his sash, tossing one to Kumar. “It so happens I can oblige you, _Highness_. Please, show us unworthy ones your might; teach us your many, many skills.” 

What’s the worst that can happen? Perhaps he remembers more of his father’s infrequent lessons than he believes he does; perhaps he was better at them than Father had told his he was. It’s not impossible that Father only meant to keep him humble, that in reality Kumar had a natural instinct for fighting that Father wanted to cultivate and would have, if he hadn’t fallen ill. The fear building in the pit of his stomach is utterly unnecessary. 

Kumar squares his shoulders and unsheathes the knife. 

It goes badly. Not five minutes in, Kumar has fallen onto his back, one hand badly cut and bleeding, the other holding onto the knife tightly, more out of terror than any technique. Nitish, looming over him, grins and raises his knife for a final stroke when: 

“Enough!” 

Everyone recognizes the Crown Princess’ voice, and even more so when it is raised in anger. Nitish scrambles to his feet, hanging his head. Kumar briefly debates rising to his feet and decides it’s not worth it at the moment. He closes his eyes and lets Devasena’s voice fade into an indistinct buzz, at least until she snaps: “…and anyone who disrespects Kumar Varma answers to me. Do I make myself clear?” 

Nitish, a full head taller than she, only nods before fleeing. 

Kumar tries his best to somehow simultaneously stand up and back out of the room before she can remember his existence, but he stumbles against a table and sets it rattling. By the time he’s steadied it, Devasena is facing him and he has nowhere to hide. 

“I would have stopped them fighting anyway,” she says at last. “You needn’t worry that it had anything to do with you.” 

He can’t think of any response. She starts to walk away. 

”You’ll need your sister to see to that wound,” she calls over her shoulder. “I can’t help with that.” 

Something in her voice when she speaks sounds familiar: frustration? Or even envy? Could it be that even Crown Princess Devasena knows what it is to want to do something but be unable to? And if so, isn't it possible she could have been acting out of fellow feeling instead of pity? To accept the former would cause no dishonor; to accept the latter would be unthinkable. 

”Wait,” says Kumar before it is too late. “Before you go—could you show me how to use my knife? Properly, I mean?” 

Her face brightens. She might have been waiting for this moment for months. “Of course,” she says, and comes closer. “For one thing, your grip is all wrong. Here, hold it like _this_. Don’t tuck your thumb under your fingers; you’ll only end up breaking it. Don’t hold your fists that way, either, and always, always remember…”

* 

The last days of summer bring with them an infestation of wild dogs in one of the neighboring villages. Kumar, still innocent of the ways of the hunt, agrees to come along to the culling. He has a vague idea of standing under a perfumed canopy, sipping sweet drinks while servants chase the dogs in their direction. At that point, it's only a matter of a few shots to make before they can devote themselves to the much more interesting question of claiming their trophies. 

He tells Sumitra as much before he leaves, and she manages a smile in response. She has been confined to her bed for days, and even now, when she replies she pauses after every few words to wince. 

"So proud of you," she whispers. "Just like a prince." 

Her face is ashen. One of her ladies-in-waiting silently exits the room. 

Kumar frowns. "I don't--" 

She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Malati will bring the physician, and you'll see. Go on your hunt, Kumar." 

Another wince, and Sumitra's hand goes to her belly. Her ladies-in-waiting cluster around her, and Kumar, entirely superfluous in this crowd of women, can think of nothing else to do but shuffle out of the room. 

"Bring me back a prize!" Sumitra calls after him, and then the doors close, and she is gone from his sight. 

As it turns out, Devasena's idea of a hunt is quite different than Kumar's. Devasena's idea of a hunt involves rather more stalking around dank dark forests than he would like, far too much tracking the wild dogs by nothing more their pungent spoor and eerie howls, and a distinct lack of servants to see to his comfort. 

After the third time he feels a snake crawl up his back--for the third time it's only a creeper, but who knows if he'll be so lucky next time?--Kumar forgoes his pride.

"Can't we go home?" he yelps. "You've killed ten already." 

Devasena does not seem at all sympathetic to his plight. "They've lost all fear of us," she says, attention fixed before her. "If left alone, they'll start preying on cattle." 

She would know about fearlessness. 

One of the villagers takes pity on him. "It wasn't a very large pack, Crown Princess. That might well be all of them." 

Devasena relents, reluctantly. "I suppose --" She stops short. Kumar looks all around, unsure of what could have caused her surprise, until he sees it himself. There, at the very edge of his vision, sliding between the trees, a tiger treads silent and deadly on its way. 

For some time no one moves. Only Kumar raises his bow, unsure of his aim but sure that he doesn't want to be devoured, but: "Don't," commands Devasena without taking her gaze from the beast. 

In a gentler tone, she adds: "It is not a man-eater; it has no quarrel with us or we with it. There is no honor in killing where there is no need, Kumar." 

"But it could be dangerous!" Kumar splutters. His mouth might as well be lined with sand; his brow is damp with perspiration. 

"And if we attack it today, it will be. Let it be." 

He obeys, but he cannot entirely trust her. Her eyes shine as she watches the creature pad on its way, with equal ferocity or fellow-feeling reflected in them. He does not think he will ever understand her. 

The tiger disappears from their sight; Kumar's attention turns to more prosaic matters, such as escaping the forest before something else tries to kill him and finding something to drink before his tongue dries up and falls off. Fortunately, the ride back to the palace is much shorter than he had expected, despite the difficulty of having to deal with his sweat-soaked silk clothes. They cling to his skin in a most unpleasant manner, and so it isn't until the chariots arrive at the entrance of the palace that he remembers, "I didn't bring anything for my sister!" 

As the words leave his tongue, all thoughts of his broken promise leave his mind. The King is waiting for them on the steps of the palace, and his face is furrowed with grief. Kumar's legs go limp with terror; only Devasena's presence beside him keeps him standing. 

*

The baby came too early, too early to live, too early to keep from trying its best to take Sumitra with it, too early to avoid causing so much damage that the court physician predicted she would never bear another child. Kumar Varma stands at the edge of the royal bed where Sumitra reclines, the King sitting at her side, and tries not to decide whether he hates himself or the innocent child that had never been more. 

"He could be wrong," says Devasena, voice muffled by misery, from Sumitra's other side. "Physicians have been wrong before." 

"Not this one," replies Sumitra. "It only remains to be seen what we shall do now." 

For a moment, he doesn't know what she means, but then he remembers: queens have been cast aside for slighter offenses than confirmed barrenness. There must be a word, a sentence he can speak to save Sumitra, to convince the King that to be abandoned now would destroy her. Instead Kumar's throat closes with panic.

The King hangs his head. "We give thanks to the Almighty," he says, "for having already given us two fine children to secure Kuntala's future." 

Sumitra sucks in a ragged breath and begins to sob in earnest. 

Devasena closes her eyes and puts her arms around Sumitra; Jayavarma reaches out and rests his hand on Kumar's head. For the first time, Kumar realizes with numb surprise, they are not two pairs of siblings, one exemplary, one hopelessly inadequate: they are a family, united by shared grief. 

They huddle together on the bed until the sun sets and the doves roost to mourn alongside them. 

* 

When she rises from her sickbed, Sumitra still looks listless and lost. Her ladies-in-waiting whisper, the court physician pronounces her perfectly healthy, and Kumar gathers his courage for two days before suggesting that she teach Devasena how to heal. "I think she'd like to learn," he ventures. Besides, as many wounds as she causes, shouldn't she know something about how to cure them?" 

His sister does not reply; he's unsure if she even heard him. It had been a stupid idea anyway, he thinks and puts it from his mind until the afternoon when Sumitra interrupts archery practice--or rather, Devasena's attempts to teach herself how to shoot left-handed while Kumar struggles to comprehend why she even feels the compulsion to do so. 

"Arjuna mastered it," Devasena replies, drawing back her bowstring. "That's why they called him Sabyasachi." The arrow hisses through the air to land just shy of the target's center. She frowns and strings another arrow on her bow. "Not to mention, what if I was injured and couldn't use my right hand? Best to be sure I can depend on both my arms." 

The next arrow finds its mark. Satisfied, Devasena sends three more to join it--and this is when Sumitra sweeps in, with more confidence and purpose Kumar can remember her demonstrating in days, come to call Devasena away from archery to lessons of a different sort. 

"As your brother-in-law reminded me, my dear, with as many wounds as you cause, you of all people should know how to tend to them," she says matter-of-factly before beginning a lecture about the proper poultice to prepare for a crush injury as compared to a cut. 

Kumar would laugh with triumph --Devasena, dumbfounded for once!--if Jayavarma didn't then take him aside to review the foibles of the political factions and figures that made up the court. When Kumar tries to explain, as politely as he can, that really it doesn't matter if he knows that Lord Vrishank is susceptible to bribes, or that Shashank the treasurer will always argue to increase taxes unless convinced otherwise, Jayavarma blinks at him. 

"Of course it does," he rumbles, as though it should be obvious. "Who else shall be my heir after Devasena?" 

The notion of anyone replacing Devasena is unthinkable, but it seems to make his brother-in-law happy to educate him and Sumitra happy to see he is being educated. Even Devasena, far from being offended, considers his willingness to be trained as her substitute as nothing more than his duty. 

So Kumar bows to his fate and indulges then all. A day when he has to put anything he's learned to use is hardly likely to come, after all. 

*

Years go by before he sees what a fool he has been. It happens slowly: mysteriously Sumitra takes far more interest in their limited diplomatic correspondence than either Jayavarma or Devasena, and just as steadily she begins to encourage Devasena to have her portrait painted.

He still doesn't realize her intent until Sumitra stalks into his rooms, fuming. "If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times not to keep Devasena so hidden away from the world. How are any princes supposed to know of her?" 

"If they have any sense, even hearing about her will render them too terror-stricken to dare go to war against us, if that's all that concerns you," Kumar answers lazily. 

"It's the terror itself that concerns me." Sumitra laughs without mirth. "I was speaking of marriage." 

Kumar's eyes widen. "Marriage? Who would marry Devasena?" 

Someone as fearsome as she, his mind supplies. He envisions a giant warrior with superhuman strength, a sleek predator to equal her fierceness: the stuff of nightmares. 

"No one, if she and her hard-headed brother have their way!" Sumitra snaps. "It's difficult enough finding a great house worthy enough to give her to without both of them reducing the list further by hiding away in our mountains!" 

"A great house?" Kumar repeats, and despite her anger, Sumitra laughs at his confusion. 

"Of course! You can hardly expect her to languish here in Kuntala for the rest of her days."

Marriage. His sister is right; it is only to be expected. Sumitra had married, and they had become a family. Devasena would marry, and they would separate. Unless-- 

"She could marry me," he says slowly, hopefully. "She wouldn't have to leave if she married me." 

Sumitra only laughs again. "My poor brother," she says. "She'd have to accept you first."

But despite her amusement at the idea, Kumar lets himself hope. It makes a pretty fantasy: Devasena, on the day when he's finally won her heart with an act of astounding bravery and skill, clasping her hands together and exclaiming: "Kumar! Before today, I had no idea of how capable and strong you were, but now I see how badly that I've underestimated you over these long years. Not only I, but also all of Kuntala has failed to give you the recognition you so rightfully deserve. Why, when asked by such a mighty warrior, how could I not agree to marry you?" 

His imagination fails to supply her with anything else for her to say or do, but even this little is satisfying enough. 

Time passes. Fate remains stubbornly reluctant to give him a chance to prove himself to Devasena; but that too is fortunate. He needs to make sure his act of valor is splendid enough to impress not only Devasena, but every generation of Kuntalans to follow. A mere good showing at a hunt or the ability to stab a few brigands without dropping his sword is hardly enough, and so not worth his effort--or so he tells himself every time he misses a shot or stands back when Devasena goes to battle. 

At least she doesn't marry anyone else and leave Kuntala behind; as long as she stays, and their family is still complete, that is enough to satisfy him. 

* 

Except, eventually, Devasena does fall in love. Worse luck, Kumar can't bring himself to dislike the man. Amarendra Baahubali is every bit the strong, strapping warrior he had always imagined would win Devasena's hand, but he's also good, gentle, and generous enough to give Kumar his honor. 

Strange, Kumar muses, that in his dreams he had always performed his great act to impress Devasena, when in reality, it had been to protect Sumitra. It must have always been meant to protect Sumitra. He does not think he will ever be able to express the extent of his gratitude to Baahubali--and to think such a man had offered him his own knife, and his friendship, too! 

However: that knife gave him the power to perform wondrous deeds, but it would have still been useless in his hands if Devasena had not shown him how to use a knife properly years ago. And Devasena's happiness lies with Baahubali, and his with her; that's clear for anyone with eyes to see. 

And so for his sake, and hers, Kumar accepts the pain of their family fracturing once more, along with the impossible task of being the heir, sister, and protector that Devasena had been to Jayavarma, Sumitra, and Kuntala itself. Nevertheless his heart twinges as he watches her ladies-in-waiting pack up her belongings, throbs when she solemnly places the _tilak_ on his forehead to name him heir in her place, and twists like a dying thing trapped in a tiger's claws as her ship disappears over the horizon. 

(Admittedly, his heart also sighs a little with relief as Devasena, in a final show of characteristic audacity, strides on her future husband's shoulders to board the tender that will take them to their ship. Perhaps the prospect of domestic bliss with Devasena is best left to more daring men; certainly, if his expression is any indication, Baahubali is delighted rather than dismayed at her boldness.) 

Devasena leaves a void in Kuntala, one difficult to fill. Kumar tries his best, though, even when it involves bestirring himself to go out into the fields to salvage the harvest from an unexpected flood, or deliberate with Jayavarma and his courtiers about how to best strengthen Kuntala's defenses, or once, terrifyingly, killing a man-eater found to haunt the forest with nothing but Baahubali's knife and his own two hands. 

He finds it exhausting. He can endure it as long as she finds her happiness in Mahishmati. 

* 

She does not. 

At least not that he can see. But Devasena, living like the pauper he called himself as a child --and showing him how mistaken he was in that belief--and exiled from her rightful place, hums to herself as she tends to the minor ailments the villagers bring to her attention, looks to the livestock penned beside their tiny cottage, and sharpens simple cooking knives along with her swords. 

"Come to Kuntala," Kumar begs, for what must be the thousandth time. "It needs its heir badly." 

"I am Crown Princess no longer, Kumar; you are heir now. You know this." 

He refuses to be dissuaded. "Even Sivagami would know that a woman should bear her first child in the house of her own birth. Come home." He takes her hand in entreatment. "My sister and brother-in-law long for you." 

She laughs. "Travel like this?" She rests a hand on her belly. "My son will be born before the week is out." 

Despite himself, Kumar smiles. "Your husband is sure you will bear him a daughter." 

"And it'll do him good to be mistaken about something for once," snaps Devasena, tossing her head. She affects irritation, but the pretense is obvious; carrying a child fills Devasena with as much health and happiness as Sumitra had been denied. Kumar prays that this guarantees that her pregnancy will have a happier conclusion. 

"But the baby is all the more reason to come home," Kumar says, seizing upon the opportunity. "He--or she--can grow up with everything you could want for him in Kuntala. Why raise him here in heartless Mahishmati?" 

Devasena is silent for a long moment before answering. "Three months ago, I would have agreed with you," she admits at last. "If it wouldn't have been a betrayal of the worst kind, I would have insisted on returning a land where honor and righteousness were more than pretty words to use in a petty argument. But Mahishmati is more than the Queen Mother Sivagami and Bhalladeva. Mahishmati is made up of these people," she looks out at the worker's village that surrounds her, full of humble men and women, and what she sees fills her face with pride and joy, "and they is worth staying for, Kumar. They are worth raising my son to defend them alongside his father." 

He can see the future she envisions: mother, father, and son together, united in duty. He knows what he must do to bring it about. _There is no honor in killing where there is no need, Kumar,_ she had told him once --but what was he to do when there was a greater need than he could ever share with her? 

"I must go," he says, rising to his feet. Bijjaladeva had been very specific about what time he should be ready to find Bhalladeva asleep and unprotected. "They'll expect me back in Kuntala before sundown. Tell Baahubali I am sorry I missed him." 

Devasena's face furrows with confusion, but she rises too, somewhat less gracefully. 

"Kumar--" 

He speaks quickly before he loses his nerve. "It may be some time before I can return; your brother asked me to oversee the border guards." It might be wiser to avoid Mahishmati until the initial furor dies down; he has no desire to shed more blood than necessary. 

"My son will have to wait, then," she says steadily, "to meet his uncle." 

His breath catches. 

"But until then, I will tell him," Devasena continues, "of a man so brave he conquers his fears not once, but again and again, to do what is right. Travel safely, Kumar." 

When he reaches the entrance to the tunnel, he holds Baahubali's knife close and the memory of her words even closer, before he plunges into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment of sorts, to explore Kumar Varma both before and during canon. His character arc, from cowardly lion to unwitting pawn, is one of the most tragic in the movie and I particularly wanted to explore his relationship with Devasena, as well as set down my Kuntala Royal Family head canons. Feel free to point out any canon inaccuracies or other head canons you might have; as always, discussion and constructive criticism are welcome! More notes below:
> 
> * Sarduli: (Sanskrit) tigress; also, the mythical mother of all lions, tigers, and leopards.
> 
> * I have no evidence of the fact that the King and Queen of Kuntala can't have children other than the fact that although the King and Queen must have been married for some time for everyone to be as comfortable as around each other as they are, Devasena seems unquestionably to be heir to the throne. Likewise, as in "Praveśaka," Sumitra's name is entirely my own invention, as is her interest in medicine. 
> 
> *The great hero Arjuna was famously ambidextrous and arguably the greatest archer in the _Mahabharata_. Given Kuntala's reverence of Lord Krishna, and Arjuna's own association with Krishna, he was the logical choice for Devasena to emulate. Again, there's no evidence that Devasena trained herself to shoot left-handed, but I doubt trying to shoot multiple arrows at the same time was the first difficult trick she forced herself to perfect. 
> 
> *As for the title itself: in the Tamil version, Kumar Varma offers Devasena a tiger-skin and compares her to a tigress and her child to a tiger-cub. However, in the Hindi version, the word used ( _sher_ ) could also mean "lion" and to muddy the waters further, the pelt he offers is spotted rather than striped. Fortunately, the mythological Sarduli was mother to lions, tigers, as well as leopards, and so I consider myself covered, no matter what the beast he fought actually was.
> 
> *As a final note, the other character in canon associated with tigers? Bhalladeva. As I see Kumar Varma in the movie as a foil to Bhalla, I find this very convenient.


End file.
